The Return Of Bulldog Drummond (23 page)

It certainly simplified things enormously, because it permitted a much easier solution of the theft of the bonds. In the past Carl Peterson and Irma had combined legitimate business with their life of crime – there was no reason why the new combination should not do the same. It was more than possible that Newall was right: that Madame Saumur’s transaction had been a perfectly genuine one, and that the theft was a simple case of embezzlement without any ulterior motive on the other side.

He re-read Longworth’s letter, and another point struck him. It accounted for a further difficulty which had puzzled him up to date – why Glensham House in particular had been taken. If his reconstruction was right, it all fitted in perfectly. From the foundation stone of young Marton’s likeness to the millionaire, which was the beginning of the whole thing, they were led to Marton, Peters and Newall. From Marton, Peters and Newall they were led to a suitable house for taking exteriors, and it proved to be Glensham House. In fact, all the mystery which had appeared to surround the events of the last few days turned out to be no mystery at all. Every single thing was the logical outcome of the fact that a young man, who bore a striking resemblance to a millionaire, happened to belong to a certain firm of lawyers.

He called for a pint of ale gloomily: a sorry end to what had seemed a more promising beginning. He didn’t see himself getting any kick out of finding cocaine in a draughty cellar. It would be amusing to sting them good and hearty, but he had hoped for better things than that. He regretted now that he had ever bothered to go to the studio: it looked as if it was going to prove sheer waste of time. And what was still more galling was that he could take no credit to himself for anything: it was this man Tredgold who had done the unearthing of the whole plot. And a damned uninteresting plot it was at that; the next time he saw Irma he would tell her she must do better in future – she seemed to have lost her form.

For a while he pondered over things: should he chuck the whole show up and go back to London? He could always get down at once if Algy wanted him, and he was getting rather bored with carting scenery about. But after a second pint had gone the way of its predecessor he decided to stick it out. There were only a few days more to go, and something amusing might happen. And so the following morning found Mr Henry Johnson once again at the studio.

Up to date, somewhat to his relief, there had been no sign of Irma. With the others, and even with Algy, he knew he could escape recognition, so perfectly had he disguised himself: with her he was not so sure. He remembered of old her uncanny powers of detection. And though it would not matter very much now if he was spotted, he would have preferred to see it through to the end.

As a matter of fact he was becoming genuinely interested in the actual film. There was no denying that it was good stuff, and since a lot of the scenes now being taken were consecutive ones in the script, it was easy to follow. Every day, religiously at half-past nine, Sir Edward Greatorex appeared; every day his scenes were retaken with Travers in the part during the afternoon. Presumably the secretary had concocted some satisfactory explanation as to why he was only required in the mornings: at any rate he showed no signs of suspecting anything. And with everybody pulling together to keep him in ignorance of the truth, the work ran smoothly.

It was on the third day after he had got Longworth’s letter that Henry Johnson arrived at the studio to find a conference in progress. Sir Edward had not yet come, and a pow-wow was being held on the stage.

“We’ll have to alter things a little today, boys,” Haxton was saying, “because this night scene has got to be shot. Now Sir Edward will smell a rat if he doesn’t play it, and that means he’ll have to stop here the whole afternoon. And that further means that Travers will have to do all the repeats tomorrow: today will be entirely Sir Edward.”

“I think Travers had better double him in the rough-house scene,” said Hardcastle.

Haxton consulted his script.

“That’s tonight. Well, I suggest that Sir Edward plays it up to the actual knock-out, and then Travers can do the bit in the lorry. We may as well let him do as much as he can, since we’ve got to waste the day anyhow. Then we’ll tell him that he’s not wanted at all tomorrow. Hullo! here he is. Good morning, sir: can you manage the whole day today? We want to do your night scene this evening.”

“Certainly, Mr Haxton,” said the millionaire. “I have no engagement, have I, Gardini?”

“No, sir: you’re quite free,” answered the secretary.

For a while Drummond hung about; then, seeing that he would not be wanted, he wandered outside. It was boring watching the same thing twice, and he preferred to see it when done by Travers.

The amusement of watching the financier performing had long worn off, and he was strolling along aimlessly when he saw on the path in front of him the butt end of a cigarette. It was still smoking, and the red marks of lipstick could be seen on the purple tip. He glanced up: above his head was an open window. Evidently it had come from there, and almost as evidently it meant that the Comtessa was honouring the studio with a visit.

He began to stuff his pipe as an excuse for remaining where he was in case anyone looked out. And almost immediately he heard Penton’s voice.

“It’s risky: damned risky. Why bring him here at all?”

“It’s Natalie’s idea,” the Comtessa answered.

There came some grumbling remark from Penton which Drummond could not catch; then a door opened and shut, and he heard Hardcastle speaking.

“Everything is fixed, but I can’t say I like it. However, since she insists on it… Here, what the devil are you doing hanging about there?”

He had come to the window, and Drummond looked up.

“Just lighting me pipe, guv’nor,” he said. “Got to get ’old of a bit o’ four by three for that there wing.”

He walked on towards a dump of timber, and busied himself turning over the wood. Who were they alluding to that it was risky to bring to the studio? He was conscious that Hardcastle was still watching him, but when, having found a suitable strut, he sauntered back again, the American had gone. And on re-entering the studio he saw him watching the work.

“Now, Sir Edward, get a good hold of the situation.”

Haxton was speaking, and, in accordance with his invariable custom, he was giving the millionaire as full instructions as if he intended to use the result. It saved time in the afternoon with Travers, and helped to foster the illusion for Sir Edward.

“You’re putting up your proposal to the girl. If she will dispense with the trifling formality of a wedding ring, you will be prepared to see that the letters are returned to her fiancé. He need never know: for her sake you will pretend to him that pity has softened your heart. But there has got to be no mistake about her side of the bargain. Now you have sent for her to come to you at your hotel: you are waiting for her to arrive. You pace up and down the room, gloating anticipation in your expression. Try that.”

“Hell’s bells,” he muttered under his breath, “he looks as if he had a fish-bone stuck in his false teeth.”

“Now then, Lettice, darling,” he continued, “in you come. Register dawning hope: after all, he’s not as hard as you thought him. Then you see his face: you realise the truth: you stand aghast.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult,” he whispered to Hardcastle, “unless it sends her into hysterics.”

For a while Drummond watched; then at the other end of the studio he saw Algy Longworth and Tredgold in earnest conversation. And as unobtrusively as possible he edged his way towards them. But before he reached them their talk had ended, and Algy had joined Laura Mainwaring.

He touched his forehead with his forefinger.

“’Morning, Miss,” he said. “A fair bit of orl rite, Sir Hedward, ain’t ’e, in that scene?”

“Good morning, Mr Johnson,” cried the girl with a smile.

“’Morning, Johnson,” said Algy. “Look here, my dear,” he went on urgently, “I must get hold of Hugh somehow.” He lowered his voice. “It’s tonight, according to what Tredgold says.”

For a moment or two Drummond hesitated: should he reveal his identity to them or not?

“I can’t make out where the old blighter has disappeared to.” Algy was speaking again. “Three times have I tried to get him and failed. Damn it! here’s our scene. Come on.”

They both went off, and Drummond made up his mind. It was better not to give his disguise away: it was possible it would come in useful later on. And so, having sought out the foreman, and developed an agonising and quite imaginary toothache, he obtained leave of absence for the rest of the day.

Three hours later, having done certain things to his appearance in an old second-hand clothes shop in Whitechapel, he entered his flat in Queen Anne’s Mansions.

“Yes, sir: quite a number of people have rung up,” said Denny, in answer to his question. “Mr Longworth some three or four times, and two ladies who would not give their names. I answered them as you told me.”

“Good! And now I want you to ring up Blackwater studio and ask for Mr Wentworth, which is the name Mr Longworth is acting under. Don’t say who you are, above all don’t say I want him; but as soon as you hear his voice at the other end I’ll take the receiver.”

He waited, and five minutes later his servant beckoned to him.

“Don’t mention my name, Algy,” he said. “It’s Hugh speaking. I’m very anxious to see you.”

“Same here, old boy,” answered Algy eagerly. “In fact, it’s imperative that I should talk to you today, and I can’t over the ’phone.”

“Meet me at the Plough at Witham tonight at seven-thirty,” said Drummond.

“Right,” said Algy. “Did you get my letter?”

“I did.”

“What I said in it has been confirmed today. Bring” – came a pause, and Drummond realised he was looking round for fear of being overheard – “bring a gun.”

“Right oh, Algy!” he cried. “Seven-thirty – sharp.”

He rang off, and told Denny to mix him a cocktail. Then he lit a cigarette, and once more turned his mind to the problem that had worried him ever since he had overheard Penton’s remark that morning. Who was the ‘him’ he had alluded to? Natalie – Irma – had insisted on it, whatever ‘it’ was, so could it be that the person referred to was himself? And if so, what did it mean? So far as he knew, no effort had been made to get him to the studio.

“Denny,” he called. “Those ladies that rang up – did they seem to want anything in particular?”

“No, sir,” said his servant. “They wanted to know when you were likely to be in, and I simply said I couldn’t tell them.”

Drummond lit another cigarette: the thing was beyond him at the moment. And he was still feeling just as much in the dark when he met Algy Longworth at the Plough that evening.

Laura Mainwaring was with him, and Drummond was formally introduced.

“She insisted on coming, old bean,” said Algy, “and we’ve both got to be back at the studio in an hour.”

“Right,” cried Drummond. “Heaven knows if the dinner here will poison us, but let’s get down to it.”

“I’ve ordered some gin and vermouth,” said the other. “We might have ’em here. Hugh, unless I’m much mistaken, we’re on a big thing.”

“Fire ahead, old boy,” remarked Drummond. “I’m all at sea myself.”

“It’s as I told you over the ’phone – confirmation of my letter.”

“You mean you’ve found out for certain that they’re using one end of the building as a distributing centre for dope?”

“I can’t think what else it can be. There’s certainly something damned mysterious going on there. Moreover, according to Tredgold it’s coming to a head very shortly. I’ll just give you the story as briefly as I can. We’re doing scenes tonight, and consequently there will be a lot of activity going on round the studio. The centre of it will be at the genuine end of the place, and his theory is that that is the sort of occasion when it is safest for them to carry on at the other.”

“Sound on the face of it,” agreed Drummond.

“Now you remember I told you that he was going to get a wax impression of the key of the inside door. Well, he’s done better than that. He’s got one of the outside door, and here” – he produced a large key from his pocket – “is the result. Now Laura and I are acting tonight, and he will have to be on hand too. And his suggestion is that you should take this key – ”

“Hold hard, Algy,” cried Drummond quickly. “How does this man Tredgold know anything about me?”

“He doesn’t. He merely said to me this morning, ‘Do you know anyone on whom you can absolutely rely who could explore the place while the main scene is being taken?’ I told him I did, though I didn’t tell him your name.”

“You didn’t? Good! Go on.”

“Well, his suggestion is this. When that scene is being taken tonight – it’s a scene where a small lorry is used – Sir Edward will be watching it. I told you in my letter about the understudy, didn’t I? And Travers – that’s the bloke’s name – will be doubling him in the lorry scene with his full knowledge and consent. Of course he has no idea at all that it’s been done all the way through: it’s the one thing that he’s not been allowed to find out. But, because this is a rough-house bit, he has been persuaded not to do it himself for fear of getting hurt. And so, as I said before, he will be watching it. Now when he’s around, Hardcastle and Co. simply sit in his pocket, and Tredgold’s idea is that that is the most favourable moment for the place to be explored. They will all be out of the way, almost for certain, and he can think of no other time when the same thing is likely to occur. Tomorrow night, for instance, when all the scenes except the lorry one will be taken again, Sir Edward won’t be there: Travers will be playing. So there will be nothing to keep them at the other end of the building. In fact, I agree with him, Hugh, that it’s a gorgeous opportunity, and one that is much too good to be missed. And Laura thinks so too.”

“I do, Captain Drummond,” said the girl. “It does seem to me that it’s the best chance we’re ever likely to get of finding out what really is going on there.”

“Well, chaps, you seem to have settled my evening for me,” said Drummond, with a grin. “I have no objection to having a look round. One point, though, Algy, you haven’t made clear. What is the additional evidence that has come to light since you wrote me that letter?”